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benchiladaJust interested in reading a bit of fiction? Skip on down to the LJcut. Otherwise, allow me to muse for a bit on connectivity in fiction first.
I have Harini G. to thank for the idea that's running the most recent Sir Reginald story.
It's writing itself in my head right now, but a few parts don't have joints between them right now, so I'll have to think about them tonight.
In the mean time, do any of you remember Serge, Mike, and the Moon Turk?
I just realized the whole Serge/Sir Reg thing, which I assure you was entirely unintentional.
I specifically chose Serge because it's Russian for "servant" or something like that.
Reginald was just a name I rummaged about to find that would sound good after the word "sir."
I find it interesting, though, as there are certain concepts/overreaching themes through all the stories/worlds I create. Even the restaurant Sushi Bastard makes an appearance in two apparently different timelines/dimensions/stories.
Am I subconsciously creating a huge woven tapestry through my own mind's time and space, or is it just an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato?
Either way, I think it's cool.
While I'm not diving back into Serge's story wholesale, it's officially on burner #5 right now.
Burner #1 = Last Shot, Burner #1.5 = More spec stories for Shonen Jump, Burner #2 = The Collected, Illustrated of Sir Reginald, Burner #3 = I can't remember, Burner #4 = The Man Who Was Thursday...
Right, here's the beginning of the Serge story, which I haven't touched in nearly a year.
I'll cobble it and the other parts together at a later date, perhaps after I finally tag all my entries.
------------
Serge ratcheted back the tension on his left hand and began massaging his sore arm. He'd had it wound to maximum dexterity for the previous night's festivities, and it was finally taking its toll. Pleasuring 77 virgins one-handed, in honor of the Emperor's 77th birthday had certainly been a privilege, but his muscles would be aching for weeks.
"If that's not enough Orgon energy for the old man, he's going to have to move into a porn studio. A twenty-four hour porn studio. Next to a whorehouse. In Queens. Are you even listening to me?"
He set down his torsion key and look across the room at Al, who had not looked up from the massive tome in his lap since Serge had entered the room. He grabbed the key from the table and, with his right arm, sent it sailing through the air. It landed on one of the vast pages of Al's book and slid down onto his denim-covered crotch.
"Whuzzah? Oh, hey Serge! Sorry, I was practicing self-hypnosis with a compendium of New Yorker cartoons from the 1970's. Some of these drawings, wow, they were VERY low class."
"That kind of talk is going to get you arrested one of these days," Serge warned.
"That's a risk I'm willing to take right now. After all, *I* just uncovered a memory from when I was six years old. My parents were having sex in the living room, and I was awake in bed, convinced that this was the sound of the Boogeyman waiting for me to come out from under the covers. For over fourteen years I thought that the noises of carnal coupling were portents of doom. Explains a lot, that does."
"Well, let me be the first to congratulate you! Just think, you spent all these years convinced that you had no repressed sexual traumas."
"I know! I'm ridiculously excited! A quarter for the Emperor!" Al cried, dropping a coin into a nearby Voluntary Tax Tube.
"I've gotta get out of these clothes," Serge said as he stood up, "Half of them were men this time."
benjamin
I have Harini G. to thank for the idea that's running the most recent Sir Reginald story.
It's writing itself in my head right now, but a few parts don't have joints between them right now, so I'll have to think about them tonight.
In the mean time, do any of you remember Serge, Mike, and the Moon Turk?
I just realized the whole Serge/Sir Reg thing, which I assure you was entirely unintentional.
I specifically chose Serge because it's Russian for "servant" or something like that.
Reginald was just a name I rummaged about to find that would sound good after the word "sir."
I find it interesting, though, as there are certain concepts/overreaching themes through all the stories/worlds I create. Even the restaurant Sushi Bastard makes an appearance in two apparently different timelines/dimensions/stories.
Am I subconsciously creating a huge woven tapestry through my own mind's time and space, or is it just an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato?
Either way, I think it's cool.
While I'm not diving back into Serge's story wholesale, it's officially on burner #5 right now.
Burner #1 = Last Shot, Burner #1.5 = More spec stories for Shonen Jump, Burner #2 = The Collected, Illustrated of Sir Reginald, Burner #3 = I can't remember, Burner #4 = The Man Who Was Thursday...
Right, here's the beginning of the Serge story, which I haven't touched in nearly a year.
I'll cobble it and the other parts together at a later date, perhaps after I finally tag all my entries.
------------
Serge ratcheted back the tension on his left hand and began massaging his sore arm. He'd had it wound to maximum dexterity for the previous night's festivities, and it was finally taking its toll. Pleasuring 77 virgins one-handed, in honor of the Emperor's 77th birthday had certainly been a privilege, but his muscles would be aching for weeks.
"If that's not enough Orgon energy for the old man, he's going to have to move into a porn studio. A twenty-four hour porn studio. Next to a whorehouse. In Queens. Are you even listening to me?"
He set down his torsion key and look across the room at Al, who had not looked up from the massive tome in his lap since Serge had entered the room. He grabbed the key from the table and, with his right arm, sent it sailing through the air. It landed on one of the vast pages of Al's book and slid down onto his denim-covered crotch.
"Whuzzah? Oh, hey Serge! Sorry, I was practicing self-hypnosis with a compendium of New Yorker cartoons from the 1970's. Some of these drawings, wow, they were VERY low class."
"That kind of talk is going to get you arrested one of these days," Serge warned.
"That's a risk I'm willing to take right now. After all, *I* just uncovered a memory from when I was six years old. My parents were having sex in the living room, and I was awake in bed, convinced that this was the sound of the Boogeyman waiting for me to come out from under the covers. For over fourteen years I thought that the noises of carnal coupling were portents of doom. Explains a lot, that does."
"Well, let me be the first to congratulate you! Just think, you spent all these years convinced that you had no repressed sexual traumas."
"I know! I'm ridiculously excited! A quarter for the Emperor!" Al cried, dropping a coin into a nearby Voluntary Tax Tube.
"I've gotta get out of these clothes," Serge said as he stood up, "Half of them were men this time."
benjamin
